Welcome To Chateau Noire
by Inxpoet720
Summary: Molly Hooper should have known, that trouble with Sherlock doesn't just disappear now that he's 'dead.' During the Great Hiatus our pathologist gets dragged into a world of murder, death, passion and intrigue when she is exposed to the Château Noire, with it someone who will attempt to lead her into danger far greater than her dealings with 'Jim'
1. Taster

Welcome To Chateau Noire

'Welcome to Chateau Noire.' She was handed a glass of red wine and ushered through the foyer, _so this is what had become of him, _Molly thought to herself as she sipped from her glass, she should not have been surprised. He was always overly dramatic; the theatrical one in their little ensemble, the room was overcast in dark silks and crushed velvet, colours dark and rich just dripping with decadence. She felt out of place, she Molly Hooper did not belong in this place, rubbing shoulder with the social elite and drinking expensive wine. She licked her lips, it was really good wine, she followed the gabbled of chattering people up the swirling staircase and showed her ticket to the door man. A private box, just for her, should she have expected any less? Settling her wine down she eased her body into the chair and waited for the curtain to rise.

A man brandishing a half white mask on his face sauntered on stage, his movements feline, in his hands a black cane with a silver bust of a woman in a blindfold. He raised the stick and fiercely beat it down on the stage, eliciting a gasp from some of the women in the audience, he smiled. It was dark, taunting and seductive, the people in the other boxes muttered amongst themselves, bringing a slender gloved hand to his lips he shushed the crowd and disappeared in a veil of smoke. Whilst the audience clapped, Molly shook her head and smiled slightly _'Oh Raoul'_

_Just a little taster, it's a little idea, phantom of the operaesque if you like, you will recognise characters from it and some lines from the movie. However i am going to make it my own, after all we have Sherlock in this as well. Enjoy and RnR after i put more chaps up. o hope you enjoy._


	2. Prologue: The Great Hiatus

_So an introduction into the Raoul, Holmes will be featuring in these, do not worry. Am just setting the scenes for the next case Sherlock will return with his excellent timing when everything is going right for our pathologist, ever the spoil sport. Enjoy^.^ Thanks for the reviews btw keeps me going._

* * *

It had been three years, three whole years since the Reichenbach Fall; Sherlock had disappeared soon after Molly had performed his post mortem. She had heard nothing, what she did know was that the only people she was aware off at the time who knew he was alive were herself and Mycroft, whom she had the 'pleasure' of meeting. Meeting Mycroft had been an experience to say the least, he was gifted, as Sherlock is that was quite obvious, however Molly could not help but notice that maybe Mycroft was better. He seemed to pick her apart almost instantaneously, though there was no callousness in his demeanour, he seemed out of the two a little more human. The fact that he worked for the government also helped her deduce that he was in a league of his own, and from what little Sherlock had told her, Molly could only infer that Mycroft was some kind of walking data base of government policy. Obviously the Holmes genes were something of a rarity.

She wasn't worried, not anymore, for the first couple months she had wondered what he would do. Whether he was okay? Was he was still alive? But as months turned to years Molly was slowly burying the memory of Sherlock in the back of her mind. Her life had to go on, everyone's lives had to go on, the press around Sherlock died down after a couple weeks, everything is hot news for a while until some celebrity dies or has an affair.

Fast forward three years and she was exactly where she was except older and a little wiser. She rubbed her eyes and stared up from the microscope, days the like these made her question her choice in career; she had been staring at the slide a good ten minutes. 'Amyloid?' she mused out loud 'Amyloid deposits' She lowered her head again, squinting harder, it was no use, she needed a source of reference, disappearing into her office she returned moments later, textbook the size of four books in hand. Heaving onto the desk she began her search, she was so engrossed that she had not heard a low chuckle emanate from the door, nor had she heard footsteps making their way to her. A pair of hands found their way on either side of her head and proceeded to block her vision. 'Little Lottie, let her mind wander. Little Lottie thought, "Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or of shoes?"

Molly smiled, instantly relaxing as she recognised the owners voice 'Raoul.' She felt his fingers drop from her face and she turned to face him, he made a flamboyant gesture, and bowed deeply, before gazing at her, feigning to be deep in thought.

'Or of riddles or frocks?' Tapping his chin briefly, Raoul pulled her off her seat.

'Those Picnics in the attic' Molly whispered

Fixing his eyes upon her Raoul smiled and took her hand leading her in dance 'Or of chocolates'

Molly's laughter filled the lab 'Father playing the violin' came the hurried response, as Raoul twirled her on the spot and pulled her back, continuing to waltz with her across the lab

'As we read to each other, dark stories of the north'

'No,' Molly pulled away slightly her eyes filled with mischief "What I loved best," Lottie Said, "was when I'm asleep in my bed. And the angel of music sings songs in my head" She pulled away fully and placed a kiss on the man's cheek. 'What are you doing here? I last saw you at Kings cross, getting the train to Paris' her smile faltered briefly 'you had gone off to Paris, to direct some opera'

'Ah yes that, I remember you looking at me nervously from the window, you never did say bye you know?' She nodded, in agreement, she hadn't had said bye because she could not bring herself to do so. He was her closest friend, they had gone to university together and straight after she had graduated from med school and him from his Masters, he had informed her that he was going off to Paris . He, as did everyone around her, was leaving. 'I had an epiphany' he smirked cheekily, and settled himself on a stool and picked up a slide, holding it up to the light and inspecting the contents 'You always were a strange one' That got her and Molly had to choke back a laugh, the man in front of her had just referred to her as strange, she could recall quite clearly when they were younger him stealing his mothers makeup and clothes and putting on shows for her, if she was strange he was practically alien. 'I am in London, indefinitely it seems' he settled the slide down and tapped the stool next to him, she followed with a curious glance. 'I am in a new…production. It's a show of sorts' she said nothing but gave him a questioning glance 'A cross over. It's not quite a circus as it's in a theatre, not quite a play as there is singing….It's an Opera with a twist'

'What is it exactly, an opera or a puzzle?'

'A puzzle?' He repeated 'Oh Moll, you always were the smart one' He offered up no more and handed her a piece of paper embellished in gold writing, on it the words 'Chateau Noire' was written in italics and a gold house with a raven as its emblem. She fiddled with paper for a couple of moments, holding it up to the light.' Intriguing' the ticket had an address, a time and date, the address she recognised as being somewhere in the west end and the date and time. Well they were for today, this evening, in a couple of hours. She looked up at her childhood friend who was now looking down at her expectantly, how could she refuse him, how could she refuse those intense blue eyes and full lips pulled into a pout. She sighed, defeated, he always did this, even when they were younger, he could get away with murder if he wanted to. She was sure he could sweet talk his way out of anything. 'Fine' Raoul grabbed her in a hug and settled her down again, making his way to the exit 'Dress to impress Moll!' he called out; she could practically see him smiling as the doors shut.

The next couple of hours were spent with Molly finishing off her study of the tissue slides; she cleared up and had returned to her office. She looked down and her attention was grabbed by an old battered black and white picture of four children all huddled together sat at her desk, the two boys proudly holding their butterfly in one hand and a frog in the other, a girl on either side of the . To the left the tallest girl had her back turned to the boys, picture taken mid-shriek whilst the last little girl, on the right at the end, simply smiled holding a kitten to her chest. Molly picked up the photo and smiled, her fondest memories were always the days she spent at the countryside with her father during the summer holidays. Settling the photo down she returned to the morgue, a quick once over the place before she would leave for the night, she hadn't had not any says off since Christmas. Raoul's visit had come at the right time she desperately needed some time away from the lab, though she hadn't scheduled annual leaved till august, she was stuck 'Oh well' She muttered, satisfied with her rounds she picked up her coat a rare smile gracing her face.

A quick shower and change of clothes and Molly was walking down the streets of London, down the grand streets and past the glow of the main lights. When she finally got to the address she was impressed, upon first glance it would not even appear to be a theatre, you would mistake it for a very grand house.

'Welcome to Chateau Noire.' She was handed a glass of red wine and ushered through the foyer, _so this is what had become of him _Molly thought to herself as she sipped from her glass, she should not have been surprised. He was always overly dramatic; the theatrical one in their little ensemble, the room was overcast in dark silks and crushed velvet, colours dark and rich just dripping with decadence. She felt out of place, she Molly Hooper did not belong in this place, rubbing shoulders with the social elite and drinking expensive wine. She licked her lips; it was really good wine, a far cry from the four pound bottles she'd pick up from Tesco's on her way home, she followed the gabble of chattering people up the swirling staircase and showed her ticket to the door man. She caught glimpse of herself in the mirror, she really had tried. Hell! She had been trying for the last three years, everyone has fears that they are unimportant, that they do not count in the lives of the people they care about, but these are passing fleeting thoughts, unverified whisperings of the mind. To have it actually acknowledged that you did not count as a person was soul breaking, sure, for Molly it was a blessing in disguise. Her life wasn't in danger and it gave her leave to help Sherlock, but the aftermath, the emotional aftermath had taken its toll, there's only so much a person can take before the crumble. Molly had taken years or battering to her ego and was nothing more than a pile of rubble, when Sherlock left she decided enough was enough. She would not be 'Mousey Molly' as her colleagues referred to her; she would not wear beiges and watered down pastels or hide her figure and shrink into the background. The changes were easier to say than do, one cannot just simply stop being themselves after a lifetime; it took all three years for Molly to emerge into what she was now. All that time and she was still working on it, realistically she knew her confidence was as high as it could be, she could and would never be a one of the women who sauntered into a room commanding attention. She could not flirt with the ease of cat stalking its prey, but she had gotten better, she could now hold her own, answer back. Molly Hooper was a changed woman, she had cut her hair, after the first month after Sherlock's 'death' more of a release of her old life, since then it had grown back and somehow it felt different, she knew it was all in her head, her hair was still the same except she actually experimented with styles now. Light lipstick, a touch of foundation and a hint of mascara to make her eyes pop, hair slicked into an neat up do and a black strapped dress that whilst modest hung to her body, what she lacked for in the chest department she made up for with her soft curves. She felt good, the first time in a very long time; she could actually say that she, Molly Hooper, was happy.

A private box, just for her, should she have expected any less? Settling her wine down she eased her body into the chair and waited for the curtain to rise.

A man brandishing a half white mask on his face sauntered on stage, his movements feline, in his hands a black cane with a silver bust of a woman in a blindfold. He raised the stick and fiercely beat it down on the stage, eliciting a gasp from some of the women in the audience, he smiled. It was dark, taunting and seductive, the people in the other boxes muttered amongst themselves, bringing a slender gloved hand to his lips he shushed the crowd and disappeared in a veil of smoke. Whilst the audience clapped Molly shook her head and smiled slightly _'Oh Raoul' _

The show was breath taking; it was like watching cirque du soleil but with a plot. The only thing that had grated her was the fact that it had no ended before the truth behind the characters where revealed the curtains were lowered and Raoul's character appeared on stage. _'Bienvenue au Château Noir. Voici une énigme à deviner si vous le pouvez, le cruel sont les héros et la belle sont des traîtres, mais un meurtrier est un cœur pur et la vie est une malédiction de génération en génération. Qui est le monstre et qui est l'homme? Et pouvez-vous faire confiance à la lumière, quand il se cache les secrets de la nuit ?' _Then silence. It was over, and she was left mauling over his closing soliloquy.

'_Welcome to the Black Castle. Here's a riddle to guess if you can, the cruel are the heroes and the beautiful are traitors, but a murderer is a pure heart and life is a curse from generation to generation. Who is the monster and who is man? And can you trust the light, when he hides the secrets of the night?' _She was stumped to say the least; a light tap brought her out of her reverie. 'Molly?' she head snapped to the direction of the voice 'Come, the after party is about to start and I have a few friends I want you to meet' She nodded dumbly, and calmed herself down, she would not make a fool of herself, she will be poised and calm and elegant. Like a butterfly, _Goddamn it Molly you are a butterfly, no longer a caterpillar, go out there and schmooze and circulate' _Raoul had firmly placed his hand around her waist and Molly looked down at his hand in confusion before looking up at him, he seemed nonplussed and simply smiled back at her showing his toothy grin. 'Molly, a good friend of mine Mister Adair' A tall man, mid-thirties, red hair and green eyes donned in a dark suit greeted her, his eyes pleasant and filled with mirth.

'Oh do stop Raoul, my good man, why so formal? Call me Ronald please, Mister Adair is my father, and I am not that old' Raoul patted Ronald on the back before turning his attention back to Molly.

'This is Molly Hooper, forensic pathologist at Barts' Molly nodded her head and offered her hand 'And this strapping fellow is Ron, son of colonel Adair. Ron however is but a wealthy rich kid, scrounging of his father's money.' Ron, though laughing, had vehemently protested the description, declaring that his fathers money aside, it was not just all fun and games. He informed Molly that he was lawyer and he oversaw the family investments and legal matters, taking a sip of brandy he continued with his defence 'One must not live to work, but work to live, you have to appreciate life, less you end up dead' he pointedly looked up at Raoul at this point, whom merely raised his glass. Wise words, for someone so young, Molly wished someone had told those words a while back, if she could go back and change a few things she most definitely would.

Ron had taken it upon himself to introduce Molly to the social classes, insisting that contacts made here were contacts a man could only dream about , he pointed to a black haired woman in the far corneer, animatedly chatting to an older woman ' She is Louise Van Doe, pa to the prime minister.' Molly's eyes widened

'We're never far from politics it seems' she note quietly, Ron smiled at her once more.

'Quiet yet highly perceptive'

'I know, I am trying to change that'

'Don't' he lead her through to the living room and motioned for her to sit 'People always over look the quiet ones, that is what gives you an advantage at the end of the day' he winked at her, and Molly could no help but smile and think that truer words had not been spoken than those in a long time. Whilst she met many intriguing guests she spent most of time in the company of Ron. She had instantly taken up a liking to his calm laid back demeanour, and had warmed up rather quickly with his sister Hilda, whilst Raoul had circulated, entertaining the guests. The evening went without a hitch; Hilda had even suggested that Molly and her grab a coffee at some point, which had taken the young pathologist by surprise. Hilda was tall, leggy blue eyed blond, curves in the right places with wit and charm to boot, over the course of the evening Molly had learnt that Hilda, was single but currently seeing three men 'Testing the waters' she called it. Lived in Elektron towers in Canary Wharf, had been educated at oxford and was fluent in in three languages. Money obviously can buy happiness, she thought flippantly, though Hilda seemed kind enough, in fact the Adair family seemed to be the exact opposite of what she was expecting, she should not judge books by their covers and Hilda had honestly seemed fascinated by the fact that the young woman was a pathologist, she herself being involved in cooperate planning, found the whole medical scene morbid and intriguing light years away from blackberries and iPad's.

When the evening had ended Raoul insisted upon driving Molly home, during the drive she congratulated him on his performance and gushed about the lovely people she had met and when they at the door she thanked him for a good evening, gave him a hug and peck on the cheek and was about close the door when she heard her name. She stopped and turned, eyes questioning, before she could register what had happened she found herself against the door Raoul's face centimetres 'Can it be Molly?'

'Raoul?' Her voice barely above a whisper 'Can what be? Raoul?' He shook his head, as if clearing his head of his thoughts and kissed her forehead 'Long ago, it seems so long ago how young and innocent we were' her brown eyes tried to decipher the meaning behind his words, 'I was scared at one point you would not remember me. I thought 'She_ might not remember me, but I'll remember her' _Silly really' He pulled away and removed his scarf from his neck and settled it around hers 'good night Mol' walking back to his car he did not at any point turn back, leaving the pathologist thoroughly confused as to what had just transpired.


	3. P:1

_Her mind was blank, had this happened with anyone other than Raoul she was more than a hundred per cent certain her mind would be racing, but it was blank, nothing streaming in her consciousness. She looked back towards the door with a confused glance then ahead of her, and slowly her brain began processing, she began at the beginning. Aside from his arm around her waist, the night had been similar to every other night they had gone out as students. Making her way to her bedroom, she began to peel of her clothes absentmindedly walking about her room, when they were students they would go out, have a few drinks and then either he would pull and she grab a ride with a friend, sometimes she would pull or they would leave together. His behaviour was more than odd, it was worrying; she had been stuck in the friend zone ever since she was a child and had nothing more than a little crush. She liked the friend zone that was where she belonged, she was not Raoul's type, this knowledge she had known since she was a teenager, just like she wasn't Sherlock's type. Men like them belong with women who compliment their features, smarmy, charming confident. Women who ooze sexuality, yet keen and with a wit and humour to rival their own, woman who stood out immediately from a crowd. Molly climbed into bed and reprimanded herself; she was being too harsh on herself, though the little voice in her head kept insisting that it was true, she was average. Like every other woman in England, there was nothing wrong with average, average was the norm, no one likes to be average but it was the truth for most women. _

_She nestled into the blankets and a singular question flitted across her mind. Why now? And that one question opened up a barrage of emotions, the first or foremost was suspicion. She played this game before, with Jim from I.T, she began forgetting about how Raoul was her friend and kept looking at all the angles in which he could benefit from showing up in her life and being with her. Years spent under Sherlock's thumb had left the woman wary, the man would turn on the charm at the drop of a hat and she was putty in his hands willing to do anything. She was unsettled, unwilling to go to bed, fighting the urge to close her heavy laden eyes she needed to, wanted to get to the bottom of this. _

_With that as a resolution she drifted off to sleep._

* * *

_Coffee? _Molly had been staring at her phone for a good five minutes. Three days, three days of nothing and then all he sends her is 'Coffee?'

The man shows up after god knows how long, waltzes in rekindles feelings that she had long packaged and sealed, upseting the natural balance of things. This was not supposed to happen, she had it planned, one day on her way home from work she would bump into a guy on the tube, since this was London it was more than likely he would be a business man. She would apologise as would he, the British are terribly gifted in etiquette and they would steal casual glances at one another before she would ask him out for coffee. She laughed as she recalled her asking Sherlock out to coffee, she most definitely would not repeat her efforts like she had done that day, she would be calm, cool and collected, the three C's and for the life of her she would not stutter. That was how it was supposed to happen, or something close to that effect, not this. Not this, whatever this was exactly, right now she was branching into dangerous waters on a little dingy with a paddle and no life vest. She ignored it, settled the phone in her lab coat "Mr Peters, sorry for the delay, just had to clear my head for a moment' he did not reply and she did not expect him too, Mr Peters was a sixty fiver year old male who was laying naked on her table dead as nails. "Do you think I should reply" she picked up her camera and took photos of his chest noting the bruising, picking up the records she penned the findings. "Coffee? What is that?" picking up the scalpel she proceeded to make an incision in his chest "Is it going to be? Hey Molly! Just wanted to apologise for my barmy behaviour earlier." pausing for a brief second she picked up the retractor and began to insert it within the incision and began expanding it. "Or will he pass it off as nothing and act like the whole event did not occur?" She looked down at the man's chest, internal functioning's now on display, "Oh Mr Peters, you probably never had to go through this crap" She continued to take tissue samples muttering the words 'Lucky sod' until she looked down at his file and grimaced slightly the man died of heart attack caused by an M.I. "Maybe not so lucky" She continued with the PM which took up a good chunk of her morning and decided to reply at the end of the day the blasted man was still her friend. _Great! Starbucks it is then. What time is your lunch break? _

All that had led to her currently sitting in Starbucks the next day toying with her coffee occasionally stuffing pieces of cinnamon swirl into her mouth waiting for Raoul to arrive, quarter past one on the dot he had walked through the doors, beaming when caught sight of her. She smiled back and waved him over motioning to the coffee that sat waiting for him, and they talked, about pointless things. Idle chatter, what she had been up to, what he had been up to, where they had been to abroad it was all very safe and very normal. After they had gone through all the niceties Molly took the plunge. "Raoul, about the other night, what was that all about?" He placed his coffee down slowly and inhaled deeply, squinting slightly.

"Ah that" His monosyllabic reply did not impress and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes that, are you in trouble?" He looked up at her bewildered.

"Why on earth would you assume that?"

"You show up, quite of the blue might I add and then that night you looked up at me as if" she paused trying to word her next sentence carefully "If you are in trouble you do not need to manipulate my feelings and flatter me in order to get what you need. I'll help you regardless." Molly swore she briefly saw a flicker of emotion that could either be construed as fear or worry, but it was fleeting and brief and she began to question whether she had even seen anything at all. He responded at first not with words but by taking her hands in his, his thumb tracing the skin there, he made a point of looking at her in the eyes and holding her gaze. Placing the briefest of kisses on her hands he released them and musing out loud as to what could have happened to 'His Molly' to make her ever doubt his intentions or even harbour thoughts that could think he would be capable of taking advantage of her in such a way. She hoped the question was not directed at her, hoped it was simply rhetorical, either way she did not answer, she found his eyes too intense and her throat had become extremely dry. She distracted herself with a sip of her coffee.

"Mary Hooper" that had caught her attention, she sputtered coffee wildly reaching for the napkin, he had used her real name. No one had called her that in years, her father's pet name for her had always been Molly, and from then on it stuck. She stared at him, gaping, wide eyed attempting to speak, but he swiftly cut her off "Mary Hooper no more. You stopped using that name in sixth form, insisted upon Molly. It was the beginning of change, you went from 'Meek Mary' to 'Mousey Molly.' Not a huge change but you became slightly more confident and not so socially inept.' Molly opened her mouth to protest once more, Raoul held up his hand silencing her 'You are terrible in social situations Moll, and you preferred solitude and the company of few. Circe, Matt and I, we were all you ever needed." He sighed "Mousey Molly who faded into the background yet would move mountains for those she cared about, where is she now? " Stroking her cheek he continued "Not so mousey anymore. I realised this when I saw you at the morgue, you have a silent determination about you now. A strength that definitely wasn't there before. You've changed, but I like it."

"I haven't changed that much"

"Oh really?" His tone was playful as he reached under the table and lifted up one of her legs and settled it on his own "Jeans, dark form fitting jeans at that, finished off with heeled boots. Since when do you wear heels? And where are the cardigans I am so accustomed too?" He prodded her collar bone and feigned horror "You're actually showing skin." Releasing her leg from his grasp she was able to settle it down firmly on the ground, she shook her head slightly trying to supress a grin from forming. "You were gorgeous, back at Château Noire. Absolutely breathtaking, so different from when you were younger. I did honestly want to kiss you, believe me I, wanted nothing more than that. I hesitated because I know you, you would have pushed me away." She toyed with her thoughts; she had definitely come into her own in the last three years, and she had taken certain luxuries, that she would not have done before, but she was a pathologist she could afford it. At present the money, her money, had been settling in her bank account for the better part of ten years collecting nothing but dust and interest. She was still Molly, she still loved her cardigans, they were at home alongside her many jumpers, and she wore them still alongside her new wardrobe. It was a mesh of old and new, she liked who she was before, parts of her anyway and the new her incorporated all that which was great of the old. "I would like to try and make this work Molls" that singular statement pulled her out of her reverie, and cocked her head to the side studying him for a couple of moments.

"Fifteen years" she muttered

"Better late than never"

Once again he insisted upon walking her back to Barts and he left her there with a chaste kiss on her lips, Molly chewed on her lip deep in thought. Things, though not progressing the way she had planned had turned out for the better, and she could not help but smile on her way back to the morgue and think that things were finally looking up for her, it took quite a while for the fates to smile upon her but they finally did.

The rest of the day Molly attacked every task with a smile on her face, she assumed her colleagues must have been slightly worried by her wandering past them smiling and waving as she passed, even when Hans, a fellow pathologist, had pawned off the stomach contents of one of the bodies for her to analyse her smile didn't falter. She accepted cheerfully and got to the task at hand.

When she finally got home she replayed the answering machine.

"That reminds me Ron was really taken by you the night of the opera. So since you enjoyed the opera so much the other night, how about another little get together at Chateau Noire? We do more than just trifle around with the arts you know. And there are a few more people I want you to meet. Molly I am going to make you turn that face away from the garish light of day, you'll see. I'll text you the details soon." Typical, typical of him to be dramatic and cryptic, though she would admit he did have her interest peaked.


	4. P:2

Thank you for all the reviews, I really do appreciate them, that and the fact that you are enjoying my little tale. Anywho Enjoy!

* * *

It had been a couple months since Molly had started dating Raoul, and unlike her other relationships there was no pre-date awkwardness, having grown up together they knew each other in and out, their likes, dislikes pet peeves. Raoul, true to his word had introduced to a world that existed beyond the four walls of her apartment and morgue, it turned out that the Chateau Noire was a secret society, of sorts. A club, highly exclusive, membership is via invitation only and the joining fee was enough to make your heart skip a few beats, all this exclusivity reminded her of Oxford. There had been a similar club, the Bullingdon, a secret society dining club for the students there, unlike Chateau Noire it had no permanent room or residence and she recalled the club was notorious for its binges and destruction as well as its snobbery. There was not a chance that she would ever imagine that one day she would be mixing with similar people, Ron had pulled a few strings and Raoul had listed her on the permanent guest list.

She was yet once more at the Noire; Raoul had said he would meet her there, as she entered the lounge she was instantly greeted by Hilda, the woman had all but rugby tackled the Molly upon seeing her. "Molly! You made it" linking her arms through Molly's own she steered her towards the bar "I was getting frightfully bored. Two sherry's please."

"Where's Ron?" Molly enquired.

"Oh! He and Raoul went off to pick up some of the other boys, for tonight's card game." The women had taken off to the patio and were seated by the balcony "In fact I don't think you've met this rabble yet. Attractive lot they are too, I kid you not"

"Hilda" Her tone was playful as she stared up at the blond woman with mock disgust "Aren't you currently seeing that banker? What's his name?"

"Harold? No its Hank" Hilda scrunched her perfectly shaped brows tapping her finger on the table "Hugh! Hugh Champs" Molly wasn't sure whether she should have been laughing or just horrified at the complete lack of tact "Oh, Molly darling! Don't look at me like that, details, details, the points remains I wouldn't say no."

"When would you ever say no?"

"True there is but a few circumstances in which that word has ever graced my lips" Molly looked back towards the lounge. She and Hilda had remained in touch, a few coffees' here and there but mainly the times she only saw Hilda where at the functioning's held at the Noire. Molly only ever socialised with Ron, his sister and Raoul, the rest of the gabble seemed in a whole world of their own, talks about skiing in aspen for a weekend away was the norm. The more Molly thought about it, the more questions arose. Who had started Noire? What was its purpose? Was it solely just a place for the rich and elite to mingle? Why in this area of the city, so far from the main road? She once asked Raoul but he played off the questions '_some rich stiff, long dead, unimportant Molls.'_ then he had kissed her, not sweet and tender but demanding and forceful it was almost as if he was silencing her. She noticed he often used intimacy as way of side stepping questions or awkward situations. When she asked him what he had been up to in France he would divulge a little information and the next thing she knew he had her pinned to the sofa semi naked. Not that she was complaining she had put it down to his pride. He hated failure, and from what little information she had available, she could only assume that things hadn't gone the way he had planned.

This technique of his was new, the Raoul she knew back when she was a student never had used manipulation of any kind. Then she had never really seen him whilst he was in relationships, this could be normal behaviour for him, continuing to scan the lounge from the distance she was at, she could scarcely make out who was coming or out. However Raoul's signature blond hair soon caught her eyes, tied back, held by a singular piece of ribbon. He was quite partial to the Victorian Era, looking up at him in his current state you could almost think that he had just stepped out of that decade. He would suit the Victorian era well, she knew very well she was now romanticising him, but years of Jane Austen and Bronte had firmly etched their way into her mind. Maybe that was her problem she romanticised far too much, as much of a realist as she is on top of being a scientist, Molly realised that her ideas of love and romance were close to that of myths.

Raoul made his way over with Ron in toe followed by three other gentlemen, and true to her words Hilda had been right, these men were attractive. Mr Murray, he gave no first name, and Molly did not ask him for it instead referred to him as the rest of the group had, as simply Murray. She had learnt that Murray worked as a journalist for the Guardian, dabbling with politics he was on the constituency for the Tories. John Hardy, executive of the Royal bank of England and Finally the oldest out of the group, Sebastian Moran whom of which owned his own company that dealt in weapon manufacturing. Upon learning that Molly was a Pathologist the man smiled a Cheshire like grin, the sides of his mouth reaching the far corners of his face followed by the narrowing of his into thin slits, the haunting green of them barely distinguishable. Unsettling, it was the same sort of expression cats had when they had cornered their prey; she returned the smile none the less unconsciously shifting closer to Ron. It was in vain, as a few minutes Moran was beside her, brandy in hand, green slit eyes raking over her with a deliberate slow pace. "Pathologist at Barts? Say didn't that" He paused tapping his glass on his chin "Detective used to visit that place a lot, the one who topped himself? What was his name?" Molly tried not to betray anything and withheld the urge to take a sip from her drink, she did not want any implication of her nervousness flaunted, and she mustered an even voice.

"Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, I believe is the name you are searching for. And yes he did use Barts as his lab, why do you ask?"

"Oh merely intrigued really, I used to follow that blog. The one his roommate used to write and it mentioned Barts and you too actually."

"I had no idea I was ever mentioned in those blogs" Molly forced a smile "Were they detrimental to my character?" She congratulated herself at how nonchalant she was acting, and finally allowed herself to succumb to her drink.

"No, upon further analysis I find he skirted over you, but meeting you now I think that was a grave mistake."

"I am going to take that as a compliment"

"You should, so as a Pathologist at Barts, did you? You know?" he made swishing motions with his hands "Perform the post mortem on Holmes?"

She laughed, and the sound alien to her ears , she could hear her nerves try to break through "No" she realised her answer was a tad curt "No, sorry to say" reminding herself to keep her tone light she continued "The pm was carried out by an independent pathologist; no one associated with Barts was allowed to perform the post mortem. You know how these things work, people need to be covered and we certainly did not want all the unwarranted press Holmes' death came with" Lies, lies and more lies, she wasn't used to this. People never asked about Sherlock, no one remembered him anymore; she could feel her fingers twitch, out of all the adrenalin that was coursing through her body and she felt infinitely hot. Yet she couldn't leave not right away, it would make it seem as if she was escaping from something. Another sip of her drink, the alcohol would do her good; it would calm her nerves and settle her, if only for five minutes to endure this topic and then she could comfortably leave without rousing any suspicion. "You have an interest for detective stories then?" If she could somehow sway the topic away from Sherlock and to something more mundane his hobbies for instance, likes or dislikes just anything that was unrelated to the detective she could die a happy woman.

"Not particularly" Moran smiled but Molly could see it was not directed at her, it was more of a private a smile, and he was enjoying a private joke with himself. "He was merely intriguing; I had a fascination akin to that of a child taking on a sort of research project." His smile disappeared "I am more an action man, I have no interest in the workings of society, and I have simple pleasures"

"Then why are you here?" He settled her with a questionable glance "If you are uninterested in the workings of society, then why join the Noire?"

"The same reason everyone else is does" The statement was redundant and could be construed in any number of ways, it revealed nothing "Would you mind terribly if I left your company for a few minutes I must freshen up" she held her smile hard, unmercifully contracting the muscles trying not to relax and breathe a sigh of relief as he made to leave.

"Of course not" she mumbled into the empty space, she needed to sit down, her legs felt as if they were going to give. She made her way to the toilets closed the door pulled down the seat and just sat, breathing in deeply, in and out and then again in and out. She knew Moran's questioning was nothing more than curiosity, after all she had worked alongside Sherlock, John had apparently mentioned her in his blogs. If Moran hadn't had asked then someone in another time or place would have, she told herself that this was good, it was a good thing this had happened. Now she knew she could handle being questioned to some degree, she just needed to work on the aftermath, couldn't go running into the toilets every time someone questioned her on the details of Sherlock's death. She exited after she had controlled her breathing and splashed some water on her face, one of the many advantages of keeping makeup to a minimum; Hilda was waiting for her outside.

"Saw you walk in, and decided to wait for you. The boys have gone off to play bridge, or poker. Whatever they are playing they have gone to do what they do best and that is to lose money in the less productive way possible."

"They often play cards then?"

"Hmm Moran does, always up for a game, though not if the stakes aren't high. He plays it fast and loose. Ron too loves the game, it helps that he has a natural gift for card games, he and Moran are usually partnered up together. Unstoppable those two are."

"And in the mean tie we do what exactly?"

"We hold our own game"

"This feels very 1950s" Hilda dragged her into the adjoining room and they were seated at the card table, near the window, she had a perfect view of the streets, a pitcher of cocktails right next to them, brimming with ice "Very 1950s indeed" Hilda handed out the cards calling out from her seat 'High stakes ladies and I warn you I will clear you all out' and she had not been joking, Molly had lost the game. She lost several in fact, her poker face was useless, and she folded too early when she should have held on, by the time the men had re-joined Molly was £600 down the hole Molly put her cards down "I'm out" Ron offered his hand, she accepted warmly as he lead her away patting her back comfortingly.

"My sister is quite the hand"

"Yes I noticed, apparently it runs in the family. I thought it wise to quit whilst I'm ahead. Before all I have left to bet with is my soul" Ron chuckled earnestly his eyes filled with humour, his expression however faulted for a brief second and Molly watched in interest as she observed him unconsciously clasp and release his fist. He was staring straight at a group of men who had just entered, amongst them were some gentlemen she had yet to meet as well as Raoul, and the three she had met earlier. Returning her attention back to Ron she found his gaze schooled on her face, his hand now in his suit pocket.

"I came over to inform you that Raoul is going to be preoccupied tonight" his glance quickly flitted between her and the far corner of the room "He has to stay here and take care of some of the Chateau's affairs?"

"Ah I see. What affairs?"

"Unfortunately I am not privy to that information, he asked me to escort you home." adopting a shy smile he offered his arm "Are you okay with this Molly?"

"Are you sure? I can get a taxi t-"

"Honestly, Molly it is no problem, plus I need the fresh air" she had said her goodbyes and Raoul had apologised briefly but _'the matters of the Noire are my responsibility, it was part of the agreement'_ She had wanted to ask him what agreement he had undertaken,she knew it was neither time nor place, but thought that he could at least divulge a little information. Though, once again, before the question could even formulate and he answer she was silenced. Another kiss followed by another, she was certain he wanted her breathless, so that she was unable to formulate any sort of coherent sentence, her thoughts melted and she could distantly hear the sound of hooting and cheering, when he pulled away smirking, she tried to fight the threatening blush.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" She was now comfortably seated in Ron's car half way to their destination.

"Yes, yes I did. How was your own game?"

"Enlightening, to say the least" She furrowed her brow whilst distracting herself with sights out the window, questioning all the while what it was with the men from Noire, they all seemed to have an air about them. They never gave full answers, never expanded on their points, it was short and sweet. They hung morsels of information by strings taunting them amongst the starving "You can learn a lot of a person from a card game, a lot from life actually"

"And what would that be?"

"Never trust anyone" the sentence hung in the air, and Molly could tell that there was definitely something on Ron's mind, she hadn't known him long, but she knew enough to know that he wasn't naturally the quiet type. She deduced that he must have noticed her staring at him from his peripheral vision because he assumed a smile quite quickly. "Sorry, went a little deep on you there for a moment." He grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, answering her silent question "I'm fine Molly, honestly" there was that smile again, the one that didn't quite reach his eyes "I may be many things, but I am always honest" He said no more for the entire journey, and when he dropped her off at her flat he hugged her hard "Remember what I said?"

"Yes"

"Good" she watched him drive away through her window, making sure he left the area okay. She couldn't stop replaying their conversation in her head; someone at the Noire had upset him that much was obvious. Whoever it was, had been within that group of men, but they entered in such a huge crowd, there was no saying for sure who, then it clicked, slowly but there was no mistaking it. Ron had given her a warning, he had told her not to trust anyone.


	5. P:3

Shattered pieces of ceramic littered the floor_. He was dead. _Ron's warning suddenly rang through, it hit hard and unexpectedly , Molly was now worried, trying to determine who it was that she was not supposed to trust, if what he said was true, then that meant that there was no one person. He had said 'Anyone' anyone being everyone, which meant in the grander scheme of things she was alone, but no one is truly ever alone, surely.

She needed her fears to disappear, to relocate to the dark crevices of her mind, she needed them packed, under lock and key. Her grasp on the paper tightened, _Body found in Park Lane, _Molly held her breath as she her eyes quickly scanned the article '_The body of 35 year old Ronald Adair was found in his home in Park Lane early in the morning on Tuesday the 16__th__ June, police at present have ruled the death a suicide, though further enquiries are being made. Adair was the eldest son of the Business Tycoon and executive of A.D software Timothy Adair, his father is said to be flying in from Australia shortly this week. _The article then went on to mention other frivolous details on Ron's life, details of things that were unimportant. She didn't want to know that he was educated at Harrow Boys, or attended Oxford, she wanted to know what it exactly was that made the police think that Ron's death had been a suicide, she tried to get in contact with Hilda, but the phone line was dead, she tried her mobile only to find that, that was unreachable as well. Finally she called Raoul, he had left for a business trip to Chicago a couple days ago, he answered and Molly was at a loss for words, she was incoherent and babbling over the phone but at no point did she cry. It took a good five minutes until she was calm enough to explain to Raoul that his friend was dead, but he knew, he had known since yesterday. He had wanted to tell her, but didn't think over text was appropriate. '_I tried to call, but it went straight to Voice mail, they say it was suicide. I knew Ron was depressed, but I didn't think he would go that far.' _Depressed? That didn't sit well with her, she had been around depressed people, she knew from personal experience the signs and symptoms of someone who was depressed clinically or not, Ron did not exhibit any of those warning signs. _I wish I was there with you Molly, but I cannot get out of this trip; I am here solid for a few weeks. Will you be okay until then?'_ she replied. Not wanting to ruin his trip or worry him, she assured him that she would be more than fine, she unlike most people had grown accustomed to death, to prove this she made a half hearted attempt and made a light hearted joke, she personally would not have bought, though it seemed to work, Raoul had laughed. '_Good, see you soon Molls.'_

For the next few days Molly had attempted to get hold of Hilda but the line was constantly dead, and she couldn't bring herself to intrude into their home, knowing the family probably much rather grieve privately and in the comfort of the ones they loved rather than be surrounded by mere strangers. She busied herself with work, taking on extra shifts, anything to keep her mind from over analysing the situation, she had reverted back to her old technique, her life revolved around going home and going to work, the same mundane routine. She hadn't had proper social contact since that phone call to Raoul so when she heard her name resounding through the morgue; she breathed a sigh of relief. Social interaction at last, she was expecting a work colleague, or even one of the delivery men that dropped of the supplies, what she got instead was quite a shock to the system. "Detective Lestrade, John" peeling the latex from her hands she crossed the floor to greet them "To what do I owe the pleasure?" there was a brief moment, a quick lapse in her mind, where she thought 'this is it' she believed that they had figured it out, Sherlock was alive, she had helped and now they wanted answers. Why else would they be here? And together no less, she was ready. She moistened her lips, ready to defend herself and folded her arms, up came her defences.

"Molly there is something we need to discuss" She inhaled deeply, but didn't say a thing, there was a kindness in John's eyes that would have not been there if he knew the truth "It's about Ronald Adair" Lestrade offered "That's the reason why I am here"

"Oh? Yes, I read about that in newspapers. How can I help you?"

"See, we previously ruled it a suicide until certain details came to light. We think it may be murder, his sister has insisted upon a second post mortem. She asked for you Molly, so I was wandering how you a happen to know such an influential family."

"I met him through a friend, at a social club, the Chateau Noire."

"Ah yes" Lestrade flicked through his notepad "His sister said that he was there the night before his death, played cards there apparently."

Molly smiled sadly and nodded "Sounds like Ron, I'll perform the PM if she wants me to, but" she glanced over at John "I don't understand why the both of you are here."

"I just wanted to drop by and say hi. Have a little catch up." John fixed her with a pointed look that informed her that he was there for more than just an idle chat. Lestrade handed her a mass of paperwork, the body would be dropped off in the morning and she had to be done by the afternoon as forensics wanted it back ASAP. When Lestrade had left John limped over, and sat at the stool beside where she had been currently working.

"You did not come in just for chat did you?" he shook his head "Why are you back?"

"This case, the Adair case" John had explained that his being acquainted with Sherlock had, had a far bigger impression than he had previously thought. Sherlock had unlocked, in John, an interest for crime and ever since his death John had found himself titillated by all the articles in the papers that gave a hint of a mystery. "I even attempted, more than once in fact, for my own private satisfaction to employ his methods in their solution" He smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets "Needless to say that I was less than successful" Molly hadn't interrupted once, instead she had seated herself next to John, head in hands, listening earnestly, coaxing him further with a few nods here and there. "I was back in London, I wanted to move my things out of the apartment but could not bring myself to do so, I met up with Lestrade for coffee and he informed of this case." His fixed his eyes to the ceiling "This is the sort of case that would have appealed to him Molly. I know you don't know the specifics, but when you do the PM you will understand." He shifted, heaving himself of the stool "I'll come again tomorrow, and if you're intrigued and wish to get to the truth then I have a proposition for you."

She could hardly concentrate for the rest of the evening, how could she? Her mind was racing, she had been right, it wasn't a suicide. At least Lestrade and John did not believe so, which could only mean that Ron was murdered, and if he had been murdered than had it something to do with what he had said to her the night of the card game? She didn't call Raoul, and when he had called instead she didn't inform him of the events that had unravelled that day, she skirted over her day _'same old, same old'_ she had told him. She could not at this point in time explain why she had felt it necessary to withhold information for Raoul but she had a gut feeling that now was not the time to be running to him. She spent that evening in her flat Molly found it difficult to stay in one place for long; she had a bad case of the fidgets, she was currently reclining on the sofa watching the television. Yet it was just noises in the background, noises and moving pictures, she shifted again, before jumping up and walking towards the kitchen. Wine? tea? coffee? She settled for a cup of tea, but the drink did little to distract and settle her, settling her mug on the table she grabbed a book from her case, only to find that it did little to capture her attention, she muttered to herself hating the ridiculousness of her predicament. Wandering into her bedroom she pulled out her jogging bottoms and an old tee, she practically turned her room upside down looking for her mp3 and trainers. Finally out in the crisp air she slipped the earphones in and upped the volume of her music so that it drowned out the world, downed out her thoughts, all she wanted to have was the bass of the beat reverberating through her. She took off down her road, not caring which route she took, it was all relative anyway, she found herself at London Bridge she ran at least 3 miles. Finally she stopped, her lungs greedily grasping out for the air it had been deprived, beautiful. It was beautiful actually a wonderful sight to behold, London in all its glory in the evening, she didn't appreciate its beauty enough. It was easy to get lost, to be swallowed and left dazed and confused within the bright lights and towering buildings, easy to forget how simple things could be. Her musings didn't last long as she found herself on the floor, hands grazed and cold against the had walked straight into someone, looking down at her; saw a tall man in a trench, brief case in hand looking at her with an exasperated expression. She couldn't see his face as his stomach was currently obscuring her vision, he held out his hand and helped her up before presenting her with a handkerchief "Bloody Hell" he rasped, he sounded like he was a heavy smoker "You should be more careful" he had griped, before walking past her. Holding the handkerchief to her hand Molly let out a little laugh, it seemed no matter how much she changed she would never defeat her chronic clumsiness, that was one attribute she was stuck with. Looking down at the Handkerchief she found that it was rather an odd shade, a deep purple made out of silk, the man was most definitely wealthy and rude what a 'shocking' combination. The colour oddly reminded her of Sherlock, it was the same colour as one of his shirts, she for the first time in months wondered what he was up to. More importantly what he was planning, she knew that he wasn't by a beach in Mexico sipping on a piña colda, it was more than likely he was in some random country in a the last place you would ever look for a person, Tibet for example, if it were her she would be in Tibet. She would go far away, some where were she was surrounded by fresh air, and the only threat against her was from nature, adopting a slow languid pace Molly began strolling back the way she came, happy, her mind was calm, no racing thoughts, peace at last. Her body protested as she climbed up the stairs of her apartment, heavy and tired, she could not bring herself to shower instead she dropped right on the bed and fell asleep.

Barely awake at 7am, the hot shower did little to soothe her aching muscles, she was already regretting her jog, piping hot coffee and a bagel, and she was rearing to go. By 9am she was entering the doors of the hospital, and at half nine Lestrade came through her doors followed by a whole barrage full of men she handed him the completed paper work and signed for the body. Left alone with the body she inhaled and went to decontaminate, when she returned gloved and hair pulled back she unzipped the bag mentally preparing for the worst.

There were no words, it took her a few seconds to adjust, realising that she had to recount the injuries into the Dictaphone, she cleared her voice. "Upon first glance victim's head has been horribly mutilated, making it difficult to distinguish the victim's identity" the hours passed slowly, and Molly was growing tired of hearing her voice, not because it was annoying her, but she couldn't help feel guilty. When conducting PM one was supposed to be impartial unaffected by the state of the body, no matter who it may be, and Molly had mastered this skill. She could easily switch off her emotions, if she couldn't she wouldn't be a competent pathologist, but this was her friend and she felt as if she should have been a little more human in her approach, her voice sounded too cold, too distant. Spying the time she noted that it was getting close to half one, there was nothing left to be done and so decided to terminate the PM. Pulling off her gloves and carefully zipping the body back in its encasement once more, she made for the sinks, soaping up her arms followed by running them under the warm water. The sound of the running water was calming and she began to reflect; he had been killed by an expanding revolver. An odd choice of weapon for suicide, primarily used for at a distance and target shooting, close range would just be messy. In her mind that proved it had not been suicide, for she had found remnants of a hollow point bullet, the hollow points so designed, to primarily, expand and once inside the target it would increase in size. This would lead to an increase in the tissue damage, blood loss and shock, she could tell by the state of his face that the bullet had transferred all of its kinetic energy to Ron; hence the mutilated state of his head, mushrooming could clearly be seen. This was a good thing though; it meant that she was able to ascertain fractions of the bullet, as with such force bullet fractions were certain to be left as it had passed through his body. She heard the doors open and close, peeking from the sink she saw John. "So?"

"What was you're proposition?"


	6. P:4

Molly sat holding her phone to her ear; she tapped the table nervously, so John needed access, access to Park Lane. He needed to see the crime scene, speak to the family members, and she was the only one who could get him in. Easy enough, she just had to call Hilda, and pray that this time someone picked up the blasted phone. "Hello, Hilda?" She nodded at John "It's me Molly; I just performed the P.M and was wandering if I could come down and see you." She looked up at John once more and he motioned for to continue "Yes, I understand. Do you mind if I bring along someone with me? Another pair of eyes would greatly help clarify a few details" she nodded in John direction, giving him the thumbs up "Okay, text me your address and I'll see you soon." They were in, John hailed a cab and they made their way to 427 Park Lane, the cab pulled up outside an imposing looking mansion block, which seemed to exude age and restlessness. The door was opened by Hilda herself she gave Molly a weak hug. Molly took the blond woman's appearance, dark circles under her red rimmed eyes, her face devoid of makeup and her hair tied back in a simple pony tail. This was the picture of a broken woman, she was the ghost of the Hilda she used to know, an empty shell. Hilda released Molly and shot a quick wary glance in Johns direction, she nevertheless led them inside. It was a charming house, attractively arranged in dark colours and paintings. Tea was brought and a long silence fell over the trio, an impenetrable thick and awkward silence, Molly had looked towards John who was busy distracting himself with his cup. "Hilda, I am sorry that we have to meet under such circumstances." Hilda held out her hand and settled her cup down.

"It's okay, please don't apologise" she folded her hands in her lap "I can't stand it any longer. Everyone keeps on offering their condolences, constantly apologising." She looked up at the fireplace, a picture of Ron smiling back at them stood proudly. "I just want this to be over and done with." John finally took the opportunity to cut in; he asked the usual questions, if Ron had any enemies, anyone with a personal vendetta. All answers came back with a negative, it seemed that despite the fact that Ron moved in the best society he had no known enemies or vices, Hilda described him as an 'easy-going young' which Molly herself could attest too. The only new pieces information Molly had learnt, from Hilda was that at some point, Ron had briefly been engaged. His engagement was to an Edith Woodley, but this had been called off some months prior and despite this both parties had remained mutual friends. As for Ron's life, Hilda said that he moved within a narrow and conventional circle, that he was a quiet to strangers, choosing only to show his true nature amongst a few. Those few tending to be his family and a few close friends, these were also the people that he spent a majority of his time with, Molly could not understand how death could visit Ron, a person who could and seemed unable to do wrong.

"And who discovered his body?" Hilda looked haunted as soon as the question left John's mouth and Molly didn't think it possible but she assumed a shade of white that was akin to the corpses she dealt with. Her eyes were now wide, the blue ghostly against her pale skin, the contrast made Hilda seem ethereal and it brought a shiver to Molly's spine.

"I did" Hilda looked at the window with a distant far off look "He had been at Chateau Noire to collect his cards; he then went off to the Bagatelle"

"Bagatelle?"

"It's a club, a card club. Ron liked playing card games, I'm right aren't I Molly? That he loved card games?" Molly nodded, unable to speak, Hilda grief had pierced right through to her core. Watching the woman was painful, she was like a lost child, so small and fragile yet with the facial features and emotion of a statue. "He came home from Bagatelle, told me he had played a rubber of whist Murray, Hardy and Moran. He lost five pounds." She laughed the melancholy sound barely above a whisper "Only five pounds. He kissed me goodnight and then said that he was tired. He had to be up early at the office in the morning, it was around ten and mother and I left to watch a show." Hilda looked up her eyes watery and they lingered on Molly "I had insisted that we left, I hadn't then maybe" she caught herself and buried her head within her hands "Maybe he'd still be alive" very carefully Molly made her way to Hilda, taking the woman's hands within her own, they were cold, it was as if she was touching ice.

"You cannot assume that. It's not your fault. Hilda, please listen to me" Molly's tone brought Hilda out of her unmoving state "It's not your fault; we're going to take a look at his bedroom. Tell me where it is and stay here."

The door had been covered in police tape and both Molly and John carefully hunched under the tape, careful not to disturb anything. On his desk which overlooked his window were some banknotes of varying amounts and a piece of paper with figures strewn all over it alongside another with the names of some club friends. Next to these names various amounts, Molly deduced that before his death, Ron was endeavouring to make out his winnings and losses that night after the card game. "Did you know the door was locked?"

"What?"

"The door" John motioned towards the sturdy oak door behind them "It was locked from the inside, it had to be opened with a key to be entered, that's how they found the body" This only served to complicate matters further in Molly's mind, there was no reason for Ron to lock the door from the inside and then commit suicide. She turned her attention to the desk and looked through the window.

"What off the window?"

"Opened" She examined the circumstances once more, she supposed it could have been possible that the murderer had closed the door, but the only escape entrance was the window. A window with a 20 foot drop beneath it, no possible way a man could survive jumping from such a height and only to disprove the theory more there was a full bed of crocuses in full bloom. Neither the flowers nor the earth showed any signs of disturbance, Molly wracked her brain further, it was perfectly possible that the murderer had managed to fire the through the window, but he'd have to have one hell of a shot. "I know what you're thinking Molly, but Park Lane is frequently visited. And there is a cab stand a hundred yards from the house, no on heard a thing." No one had heard a thing, no one had seen anything, yet there was a man dead in her morgue, there was a revolver bullet which had mushroomed out. Ron had no enemies, there was no attempt to remove anything from his person or from the room, and these were the circumstances of the death in Park Lane. Both John and Molly left with more questions than they had answers for that morning; they began to discuss possible motives and methods of entry as they walked through the park and found themselves at Oxford Street. They turned the facts over and over again, with little progress being made, as they approached the main road they had made the transition from quiet roads to the welcome hustle and bustle one had come to expect from central London. Molly disliked the crowded streets of Central at times, though she could successfully navigate her way through the crowds and avoid being hit by bodies on most days she did have relapses. Today was one of those days as she clashed with an elderly man, a rather deformed elderly man, hunched from the shoulder he scrambled to the ground almost instantaneously. Molly had managed to knock over several of the books he had been carrying, she bent down to help him and observed the titles of one of them, _The Origin Of Tree Worship, _she looked from the book towards the old man and realised that he must have been a bibliophile, either by trade or hobby he collected old obscure books. She endeavoured to apologise for knocking into him, but the owner of the books did nothing but snarl at her with contempt before snatching the books from her hand and disappearing within the crowd. "I forgot how hospitable we Londoners are"

"One of the rudest cities in the world? I cannot ever imagine where they got that from" She bit back a laugh as John helped her up, she had never spent this much time with him before. In all honesty she seemed to forget the existence of anything when Sherlock was in the room, and since he and John were constantly in each other's company that meant she often overlooked John. She'll even admit that there were times when she forgot his name, she became slightly overcome with guilt, lying to John about Sherlock not noticing that he was a decent guy. She could tell that he was still torn up about his friends death, he hid it well though.

"John, I want to apologise."

"For what exactly?" they had stopped at a cab stand, John turning fully to face her.

"Not noticing you, not talking to you more, you're actually pretty decent." John put his arm around her and gave her a one armed squeeze.

"Yeah well we're both guilty in that front. Though I must say you seem to have come out of your shell more in the last three years. You have more of a presence that wasn't there before."

"So I keep being told" She hailed a cab "221B Baker street please"

As they approached Baker Street Molly felt a heavy lump in her throat, she had not been here since the Christmas of three years ago, John paid for the cab and they walked into the apartment together. Molly spied John inhale a quick breath, she followed behind him and took a quick peek in the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson?" She received no reply; John was staring at the stairs with a vacant gaze "John, why don't you go upstairs. I'll make us some tea or coffee" he quickly nodded and hobbled up the stairs, whilst she busied herself in kitchen. It was bloody difficult, she wanted to John everything, if anybody deserved the truth it was most definitely him. Balancing two cups of steaming coffee on a tray, she carefully made her way upstairs only to see John talking to someone, the closer she got to the door the more confused she got. It was the old man from Oxford street, the one she had knocked over. His sharp widened face peering out of the frame of white hair and the very books Molly had made him drop wedged firmly under his arm.

"You're surprised to see me, sir," He rasped in a croaking voice. Molly settled the tray down and walked towards John, settling right beside him her face unreadable "Well, I do have a conscience young lady" He motioned towards Molly "And when I chanced to see you go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to myself, I'll just step in and see that kind woman, Molly is it?" he turned towards John "John I take it? I just wanted to tell her that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm meant. I wanted to thank you for picking up my books." Molly nodded slowly in acknowledgement but did not move from her spot beside John.

"You didn't have to come all the way down here to apologise" She looked up at John in confusion who took it as his cue to intervene and question the strange man.

"May I ask how you knew who we were?"

"I am a neighbour of yours, I have had the pleasure of meeting your land lady Mrs Hudson" they both visibly relaxed on the mention of Mrs Hudson's name " I own a little bookshop at the corner of Church Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect yourselves; you are such a strapping looking couple. Please take a look in this box whatever you like you may have free" Molly's jaw dropped and she repeated the word couple into the open space, John looked at her holding back a laugh, the strange man settled the box behind them and they sorted through them. When they turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at them across the study table. Molly dropped the books in her hands and didn't even register the sound as the leather bound books hit the wooden floors, whilst she opened and closed her mouth searching for something. She finally managed a singular sentence "You're back? Since when?" instead of answering her question he wavered them off with his hand and turned towards John who was currently frozen solid. He collapsed onto the chair and just sat there "Oh Molly don't just stand there gaping like a fish, get me some brandy from the table." She walked mechanically towards the table and grabbed the flask off the table and handed to him, her mind still blank. She watched mesmerised as Sherlock opened the flask and brought it too Johns lips." My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected." John gripped him by the arms

"Holmes!" he cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive?"

"Of Course I'm alive John, unless both you and Molly are on narcotics. It is safe to assu-" Sherlock was cut off when john stood abruptly and landed his fist on the side of his face, Molly couldn't help but smile because almost immediately after punching Sherlock John had enveloped him in a hug.

"You bloody twat!" He pushed Sherlock off of him "You're a prick! You know this right?" Sherlock had yet to answer having still to recover from the left hook John had just landed on him.

"Was that really necessary? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance. I admit." He opened his mouth, testing out the movement of his jaw.

"Was it necessary? Are you out of your bloody mind Sherlock? Three years? You've been alive all this time! You're lucky all I did was punch that face of yours and not empty a gun into your sorry self." John gripped his sleeve once more "It really is you" He sat opposite John next to Molly and lit a cigarette, his manner nonchalant, dressed in the seedy frockcoat of the book merchant, but the rest of his disguise lay in a pile on the table. Molly couldn't help but notice that Sherlock looked thinner and if it could be even slightly plausible he seemed keener. His aquiline face revealing to her that his life had not been a healthy one.

"I am glad to stretch myself, Watson," he said. "It is no joke when a tall man has to take a foot off his stature for several hours on end. Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations, that I have no doubt you require I will answer in due time." He plucked the cup from Molly's hands and brought the cup to his lips and sighed "Black and two sugars" he inhaled deeply before taking another sip "I have missed this" Molly caught John staring at her, realisation seeping through him.

"Molly you knew?" she looked towards John in horror and then to Sherlock with a silent plea, when he remained silent, and continued drinking her coffee she sighed exasperatedly with her eyes still trained on him, her countenance turned annoyed. "You knew otherwise you'd have slapped his face by now. But you didn't, you said and I quote 'You're back? Since when?' Molly?"

"If I may just quickly conjecture" he settled his cup on the table "In what universe would Molly Hooper ever slap me?"

"Shut up Sherlock" he looked visibly confused, not by the fact that John had told him to shut up, but that Molly, mousey Molly Hooper had just told him to shut up in lieu with John.

"I'm sorry John but Mycroft ha-"

"Mycroft? What am I the only one that didn't know that you were alive?"

"John don't you think you're being a tad over dramat-"

"Shut up Sherlock" again Molly and John had joined forces and told him to shut up, he disliked these new turn of events. Molly and John were inherently similar, they always remained separate from each other, never together, and he had always been the one thing that linked the two together. He brought his chin up in defiance and picked up his cup once more.

"You two" John angrily gestured between the two them "Have a lot of explaining to do" Molly chewed on her bottom lip, her hands refusing to keep still.

"Molly it appears we must confess to our dirty deed" Molly let out an angry sigh and buried her head in her arms muttering amongst herself "I'll start then shall I?"


	7. P:5

The years certainly hadn't watered down his personality, and it was a great comfort to see, she assumed the whole Moriarty fiasco would have changed him. Trivial worries really, Sherlock Holmes bends for no man, if you asked her for her personal opinion the man was like a bloody honey badger. "It's quite simple John" bringing his body forward he rested his elbows on his thighs, hands folded to accommodate his face "Moriarty had deduced that there were a few people that really mattered to me, Lestrade, yourself and Mrs Hudson."

"We matter, do we?" John gave a quick wink in Molly's direction and she stifled her laughter, she spends a couple hours with the guy and now they we're already manoeuvring into inside jokes. Sherlock looked less than pleased; he reprimanded John for his complacency, even going as far as to blame them for his current predicament. Both Molly and John had to be applauded in their reactions, John for not landing another jab at the detectives face and Molly for not unleashing quite a colourful spectrum of words, instead they sat. Listening ardently and allowing him to have his moment of superiority. "Could have been avoided, all these emotions. Caring." He spat out the last word, heavily emphasising his distaste "I knew that he would in some way threaten your wellbeing so I devised a plan."

"That's all very well Sherlock, aside from the fact that I saw you drop to your death. Your body hit the ground, I saw blood."

"Ah yes that" At this Sherlock did all but spring up and jump about the room, it was more than evident that he was excited by this particular segment of his story, Molly inwardly sighed. The man was all stone and ice when asked about day to day occurrences, but at the mention of a mystery and he devolved into what can only be described as manic a five year old in a toy store. "That was quite a feat, in which I to this day must say has been one of my greater moments, you saw me fall did you not John?" Molly made herself comfortable, she didn't need this explanation, because she had lived it, helped make it a reality. Of course John saw Sherlock fall, but he didn't see Sherlock hit the ground. Oh no instead John was conveniently intercepted by a passer-by on a bike, she knew this because she had seen it, she was there in the building with Sherlock on the first floor. When John had gone down that was her cue to drop a body out the window, a body that was dressed similarly to Sherlock, had the same height and hair, whilst Sherlock fell into a rather well placed bin. As human nature dictates in John's aroused state he would have been blind to everything, focusing his entire attention on the building, until that is, the moment he was so ill fatefully distracted.

"But I saw the body, it was yours. I took your pulse"

"It doesn't take a considerable amount of time to swap a body John. The crowd, they were hired by Mycroft, when you had been knocked down; by one of my most trusted from the homeless network might I add. Had switched placed with the body, and as for the matter of my pulse, it's elementary my dear Watson. I simply concealed a tennis ball underneath my armpit, a tactic that has been used for centuries by magicians which as you know as a doctor wou-"

"Would have slowed the rate at which the blood would flow through the arm's brachial artery therefore slowing the pulse rate, until it is virtually undetectable." Sherlock clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the room he strode back to his seat and resumed his earlier stance. Despite the fact that she had helped orchestrate this whole affair Molly was still rather in awe of the fact that it had actually succeeded, the planning had been meticulous for a half a day's work. She remembered the adrenalin pumping though her body with every beat of her heart that day, the fear that she might screw up, that Jim may discover their plan. So many 'What ifs?' had rushed through her mind, her part did not end there though. She called up a few favours and long story short Sherlock is officially signed off as deceased, whilst Londoners are torn between mourning and hailing his suicide, Sherlock slips out of the country.

"Precisely John, precisely. Another coffee Molly, if you would" She took a moment to register his request, "Molly, another coffee" he dangled the cup from his finger, holding it right in her line of vision, her mouth opened and for the first time in her life Molly was actually going to tell him where he could stuff it when he cut her off mid-sentence "Coffee for the dead, isn't too much to ask is it?" silently she relieved him of his cup, _'Useless bastard' _repeating the phrase in her head as she made her way to the kitchen once more, '_Useless, smarmy, self-assured bastard,' _she added more fodder to the fire raging, running one hand through her hair as she angrily stirred the contents of the mug. When she returned he was reclined on the sofa, long legs stretched out and his arms behind his head, eyes closed topped with a smirk._ 'Arrogant, bloody sexy bastard' _she quickly backtracked, reprimanding herself, think of Raoul. She thought of spring green eyes behind blond eyelashes, dirty blond hair that lay in soft waves about his chin and the five o clock stubble that graced his jaw in the mornings.

"That's brilliant Sherlock, truly bloody brilliant"

"This is one of those rare moments in which I too must confess that yes it was quite brilliant, wasn't it?"

"Though three years Holmes, why so long? What have you been up to in such a time?"

"I have spent a majority of my time travelling. After parting with Molly and Mycroft I retreated to Florence, though it did little to satisfy me. A dull place if ever I saw one, you'd like it there John. Then I found myself in Tibet, Iran, posing as a Norwegian archaeologist I found I could gain entry into countries quite easily. Border control is quite lax, and I have never met a man who couldn't be bought.'

"Travelling? You spent three years gallivanting across the world like some post pubescent gap year student? I cannot believe I actually worried about you?" He shot Molly a withered look, but it didn't have the affect he wanted, instead of retreating and apologising profusely for her outburst she stared right back at him. Legs were crossed, as were her arms, she was obviously annoyed and her lips pursed into a determined line, she wasn't going to let him off that easily.

"I was not 'Gallivanting' I was conducting research, and trying to give Moriarty's men the slip."John began massaging his forehead; Molly looked at him with sympathetic glance, she could vaguely relate to how he was feeling right now. It was quite a lot to take in, and she didn't have the extra weight of processing the information that Sherlock was in fact not dead, she could only imagine what was going on in John's mind. Rooting through her bag she found a pack of paracetamol, moving from her spot beside Sherlock she shuffled over to where John sat and popped two pills into his palm. "They know you're alive?"

"It appears one of them may have caught sight of me when I attended my funeral" It was now John's turn to angrily intervene the detective in mid speech, something that Molly could tell did not go down rather well.

"You idiot. You successfully manage to get away with orchestrating your own death, yet get caught, attending your own funeral. Why on earth would you do such a thing?"

"I needed to check if you and Mrs Hudson were all right, it's the only reason I came back to London. To check up upon you three, you don't honestly think this is the first time I have bumped into Molly do you?"

"I never bumped into you?" Molly cried incredulously.

"Oh but you did. Last night around 8pm on the London bridge, you ran into a man wh-"

"That was you?" she pointed an accusatory finger at him, a range of emotions passed through her face "It did not look like you at all?"

"For goodness sake why won't anyone let me finish off my sentences? Yes that was me, that's why it's called a disguise Molly. Honestly, it's as if, in spite of how long the two of you have known me, you still doubt my talents. I have successfully been keeping tabs on all of you these last three years, and as I said earlier, I came back to check up on you all. And of course the Adair case may have caught my attention."

"If Moriarty's men have been following you for the last three years, that means they have followed you back to London"

"That's right, and what are you going to do now? You can't exactly move back into this place, as Sherlock or in disguise, it will arouse suspicion."

"Indeed, which I s why I shall be temporarily staying with Molly" Silence settled heavily in the room, Molly's head had snapped up fast her eyes had widened as she stared at Sherlock quite lost for words. John, too seemed unable to talk as well, their newly acquired state amused Sherlock. He smiled brightly at the pair of them, clapping his hands together snapping them out of their reverie; Molly was the first to oppose. He couldn't stay with her, it was physically impossible; she lived in a one bedroom apartment. Granted it was a rather well furnished, modern, one bedroom apartment but it had no spare room, unless he wanted to sleep in the boiler room. She voiced her concerns only to have them wavered off. "Molly you're flat is quite spacious, you're living room is at least twice the size of ours, and your bedroom is more than capable of comfortably fitting two people on the bed and an extra four on the floor. Not including your sofa which doubles up as a sofa bed." She bit her bottom lip intently; Raoul was due to return in a week, how she was supposed to explain when and if he came over why a dead man, who didn't seem quite so dead, was lounging around her apartment. "Not to mention Molly that you seem to have developed an intriguing set of contacts. The chateau Noire? I must admit to you that you do surprise me Molly." She still had yet to reply, she was still trying to figure out a way of bringing up Raoul. "You and I are going to have to be working rather closely together, you will be key in this investigation." There was something in his tone that unsettled her, she could not quite place her finger on it, it worried her to no ends. Whatever he had planned it sounded dark and ominous, and quite frankly having been involved in one of his schemes she'd rather not get involved. She wasn't made for this, she was no buxom six foot blond who was cool and calm under pressure, the kind of woman who could seduce a man and ten seconds later garrotte him with the lace from her underwear, or something similarly ridiculous. She was not a bloody bond girl. "Nervous?" there was that tone again.

"Completely" if she was going to go down might as well go down swinging and with the new Molly in full swing "I am absolutely nervous, you're like a ripple. One small ripple that has the ability to create many, creating waves in a once calm lake." Sherlock turned to John with a raised eyebrow, a silent enquiry about their pathologist who not only answered his question honestly and levelly but actually met him with eye contact, John proved to be useless. In fact he thoroughly despised the new John and Molly dream team, "Visitors, I get visitors. How will they react when they see a dead man in my living room?"

"Molly you're as social as I am, you have no visitors." That silenced her, the statement was true, family, work colleagues and the few friends she had knew that she was not the most social of creatures. She often opted quite freely to work over the holidays, whether it be Christmas or summer, she was a solitary creature by nature. "Don't worry John will vouch for me, I am an excellent companion." She subconsciously began chewing on her lip again, the look John gave her was far from reassuring, it was downright worrying, between John's reaction to Sherlock's statement, and Sherlock himself lazily staring up at her she felt like she was sinking fast.

"Welcome aboard the titanic Molly"


End file.
